


To Grow Is To Shrink

by frantic



Category: Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 15:53:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20176867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frantic/pseuds/frantic
Summary: Whenever something grows, it shrinks a little bit somewhere else. {AU}





	To Grow Is To Shrink

to grow is to shrink

a worm story

by frantic author and logiccosmic

-1: misery-

"Hey there lonely girl."

She didn't look up from her spot as he spoke, staring at that broken wall in the pouring rain. It was a bit aggravating for him, he wasn't used to being _ignored. _He was the center of the room, the life of the party. A girl wearing whatever she was wearing - some sort of black _armor, _it looked like - wouldn't ignore someone like him.

He was important. The 'purpose' of being important, of being someone like him, involved people _noticing _you.

He walked closer towards her, down a dark and damp alleyway, an empty thing, with nothing but the sound of rain and sobs intermixing in the air. He wasn't very good at understanding others - that was more of a friend of his thing - but even he could tell that she was in pain. A deep, crushing sort of sorrow bounced off her in waves, and he grimaced at the feeling. Pain, that sort of pain, wasn't the kind of thing he was fond of. His friend, his _best _friend, had been in love with that sort of thing. Reveled in it. Cherished every part of it. But he preferred it quick and fast, the pain of peeling off a band-aid rather than ripping away a scab.

She slowly turned her head up, and he had trouble not grimacing at the sight of her mask. It was garish, in the simplest terms. Similar to her outfit - a mixture of black and brown and all those _drab _colors that the uninspired choose to wear. But the eyes, those two eyes refracted and twisted inside themselves, creating a sort of bizarre shape. It was absolutely magnificent.

He could see himself, in those multifaceted features.

It made him idly wonder what the person behind it was like. The way she dressed was villainous, dangerous, and deliciously _violent_ for someone so young, who cried alone in the backend of alleys.

He realized that she must be just as astonished as he was. He was a tall man, after all, and looming over a girl in an alley wasn't the best way to introduce yourself. It was lucky that he had those roguish sort of good looks that you didn't see very often. Compared to her, he dressed simplistically, no armor, no mask. A ragged black set of suit pants, and a white dress shirt topped with a simple tie. That was his 'costume', loathe as he was to call it that. He smiled down at the girl, hiding alone on an empty street. "What's on your mind?"

"N-none of my friends... n-nobody wants me!" She sobbed, and he held back his irritation. The idea of crying about that sort of thing, it was so… so _average, _for someone who was dressed as she was. He hadn't imagined that anyone that went out at night wearing armor and a mask like hers would be so… normal. It was crushing. A true tragedy. But still, he graciously bent down to listen to her bitter words.

"Nobody's... nobody's ever wanted me!"

Ah. That was the problem, was it? he could certainly work with that. A bit disappointing - everyone had that… _dilemma_. He had expected more, again, but he had learned, over so many years, that expecting more from the masses was foolish. He had to take those that wanted so little, and _teach _them that they were wrong. Nobody was unwanted, nobody was _ever _unwanted. You had to simply make others understand that you were far, far more than they could ever dream of being. And then, you would be wanted. That was all it took. Becoming better.

"If nobody wanted you," he said, his voice smooth and silky like a newly mixed drink, words dripping like honey, "Then I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"...Then you just want me for _something_, d-don't you? Th-that's… that's all anyone ever wants." If Even with that mask covering her eyes, he knew that she wasn't even looking at him, so much as through him. He was just in the way of her mask, hopeless as it was. He didn't need a true look at her though - he never did. He knew what she felt behind that mask, everyone felt that way, once upon a time. He knew the emotion behind the words, those tastefully potent words filled with everything he wanted.

Anger.

Bitterness.

Hate.

It was all there, wrapped up in a tidy little bow like a perfect present. Of course, he'd never been good at 'waiting'. Every Christmas, he'd crept around days before, searching for his presents. That was the point, wasn't it? The thrill wasn't so much about the _waiting_, as it was about the _knowing. _And why would he bother waiting, when it was right here? He knew what he wanted to do, what he craved. Why wait… when he could open it _now?_

"Why, I don't want anything. I've always preferred the finding, to the wanting. But what do _you _want, lonely girl? Is it fame? Power? Money?" He didn't bother with pauses as he spoke, he had to entice her. Enchant them with words, lure them in, and you were already most of the way there. Anything else was just… a _bonus._

"I… I just wanted to be a hero," she said, her voice a pitiful whisper. "Why did everything have to get so… so _complicated? _I just… I just wanted to use my power to help everyone!"

A hero. Of course. He hadn't expected it, not from the way she was dressed. A shame, really. Squandering what she had, all that _emotion _on heroism. But who wasn't trying to be a hero - after all, even _he _had wanted to be a hero, at a time.

It was just idealism. Simple as that. Heroes weren't a thing that you could become, you either _were _a hero, or you were a pretender. A fake. He'd met several who had the potential to be heroes - but they would always give up at the hardest point. It was difficult, being the best of humanity. Nobody could truly become a hero, because when you get that close to the sun, all that happens is you watch yourself _burn._

Not everyone could be a legend. Most were content to wallow in their own mediocrity.

"Hm. Not everyone can be a hero, you know," he remarked offhandedly, like the words didn't matter at all. It was easy, pretending like he didn't see her suddenly tense, staring at him with a sudden wariness. "Because you can't have heroics without villains. All the world - from you all the way to _me_ \- is nothing but a stage. You have heroes, villains, and everything in between."

He smiled, feeling a bit more daring now that he had her full attention. "Some of are simply… _better _at their roles. You can be a character in the back, or you can be center stage, giving out your soliloquy. What would you prefer?"

"Leading," she answered after a brief hesitation, voice firming up from its doldrums. He smiled, wider this time, encouraging her to keep going.

"That isn't all that hard to arrange," He said with a smile, holding out his hand. "Just follow me."

She didn't take it - just kept in her little ball, refusing to grasp the chance he was offering.

"Ah, I understand." He said, standing up slowly, brushing the dirt off his pants. "However, I'm not a 'leading' role."

She drooped, her body sinking deeper down.

"I'm the _director._" His grin became boyish in delight as she looked up again, and he offered his hand once more. "I've been in far too many acts lately, I'd rather take a step out of the limelight for a bit. Say I'm your… agent, if you will. Or your manager."

Her hand slunk underneath her mask, reaching up to her face. He didn't frown, per se, but was a bit exasperated at the lack of _trust _implied. Well, it wouldn't really matter soon. She'd learn - and she'd be a _masterpiece_.

"What's your name?" She asked

He smiled. A bright, full smile with far too many teeth and glinting eyes.

"It's Jack. _Just_ Jack."

-2: despair-

She wasn't weak, was she? That was good. He didn't like working with weak materials, and she was… _destructive. _Using those bugs as she had wasn't anything he had seen before; and the way she controlled them was _vicious._

There was no stopping.

There was no backing down.

They attacked, attacked, and attacked _more. _They attacked until there was nothing left to attack. They struck, and ripped, and tore until she had nothing left. The girl had no mercy, possessed when he showed her a picture of that girl - a girl who he didn't even know, whose name he had no care for, but that worthlessness that had been forged into her… She was becoming a _masterpiece._

And when there was nothing left, she gasped, struggling for breath, and he smiled as he walked towards her. "Hey there, lonely girl."

"I… did I do okay?"

He smiled again, a sickly, deadly thing that flickered across his face like a knife's edge, and reached out to ruffle the hair revealed on her head, through the gaps in her disheveled costume. "You did _fantastic_. The best actor a director could ask for."

She smiled, a thin and quiet line appearing on her face before vanishing just as fast. She still didn't _trust_, which was annoying. Trust was important. Trust was viciously, viciously important - and he couldn't believe that after all he'd **done **for her, after all he'd **aided **her she still didn't trust him.

"Hey, lonely girl," Jack said, a grin coming across his face. "As pretty as those eyes of yours are, I'd like to see the real ones for a change, you know?"

She froze, still and _weak._

He didn't like that at all. That it wasn't an immediate response, that she didn't concede to him without a second thought, that she _dared _to _think _if it was alright. There was no stopping. There was no _complacency_ here. She was **his**, from now on until the end. She still was thinking for herself.

It was a problem.

"Come on, lonely girl," he said, smiling wide and too bright. "Just for your good old manager, alright?"

She didn't answer at first, but he was fine with that. This was a step. A big step. If she did this for him, she would do _anything. _There was no going back, not with him. He was a master of this art, the fine line of walking between death and life, dancing over the precipice without a care and then dancing back with equal abandon.

"I… I…" She stammered, and his smile dimmed a little bit. Not too much, but enough that she might have noticed if she wasn't preoccupied. His masterpiece couldn't _stop_, not now, not at this point.

"What's one little glimpse? What harm would just a _peek _do?" His eyes flickered back at him in the multifaceted eyes of her mask, a thousand grays staring back at two. "Just a _peek._"

She stared at her feet, watching a spider slowly crawl up her leg, an elegant and deadly thing that laid a line of webbing onto her hand, crawling over it, gently - oh so gently - and he reached out his hand for it. She hesitated, but it was quickly over. The spider crawled onto his hand, and he watched, fascinated, as it delicately danced across the veins on his wrist, ever so close, but not _too _close, to the teeth.

"I… I guess it's okay…" she murmured.

He smiled.

"Just a peek, right?"

She reached for her helmet, her fingers quivering all the while. He nodded gently, grasping it with her as the spider crawled up his arm.

"Of course, just a peek."

-3: hate-

"You brought a present!" Bonesaw squealed, clasping her hands together in rapturous joy. "I'm going to introduce you -"

Jack gripped his _protege_ by the shoulder, stilling her shaking. Unmasked, she looked up at him with wide eyes, hair falling in front of her face. So _raw_, but so close. A few more steps, and he'd have his masterpiece.

"Remember, lonely girl. We're are _all_ here for you," he soothed, stroking her hair back. She didn't shudder, and Jack's grin grew, "You have to be made up for your _debut_."

Bonesaw, assembling the room's furniture into an operating table, hummed a tune as she worked. Metallic legs skittered across the floor, scraping against the wood, but Jack only had eyes for her.

"I.. please don't hurt me," she pleaded, softly, eyes leaking as she shivered against his hand.

He clucked his tongue, all together _disappointed. _She kept getting so close, so _close _to being his magnum opus, but the resistance was disappointing. Through a carnivore's smile, he said, "Nothing worth doing is _easy_, you know."

Jack pushed her towards the now finished table, and she didn't resist. "It's what you _need_, after all. It's what will make you, _you. _You can't reveal yourself as you are now - it's a mask, you wear. It's not the real you. You saw that didn't you?"

The cavalcade of sounds - screams, terror, _creation_ was too short. It was a symphony that would only be played once, and he was the conductor. Jack watched, enraptured. She was being sculpted, changed, reborn. She was his invention, his creation, his perfect gift to the world. The hours were too short - it was only an instant, and it was done.

Bonesaw stepped back, hands dark with viscera and blood. She wiped her forehead, smearing its sweaty surface red and black. "She's allllll done! I made few more improvements, even! Oh, she's staring at me. _Yes_, aren't you a happy -"

He tuned her out, stepping closer to his handiwork. He didn't see hate, fear, or anything her eyes. Nothing but _purpose_. Hard, seething purpose. Staring at the little girl who thought herself the creator of this masterpiece.

How _laughable._

Jack placed a hand on _his _work's hand, and gripped. She didn't respond, but her eyes snapped to his, breathtaking in their intensity. She searched his face, waiting for him.

"You can feel it, can't you? You feel _strong_. Do you feel strong?" He asked, releasing her limbs from their restraints. She vibrated with the _need_ to get up, to move, to finally, be what she was. Her eyes locked back onto Bonesaw's back, as the girl cleaned up her assistants.

All she needed was the finishing touch. The artist's signature.

"Now, _dear, _I think Bonesaw would like a demonstration."

-4: agony-

Jack watched as his masterpiece vibrated with unbridled energy, and a seemingly infinite number of capes stood against her. The entire Protectorate had come - solely to quell what was _his_. It was…

Utterly beautiful.

"Are you ready, my darling?"

She vibrated faster, tensing. He smiled.

"Then swing your scythes of slaughter. Go, into those fields of Asphodel, and _reap _their dead, until they cannot sow anything into those fields that you have left behind. Cleave them with your strength, the strength that you _earned_. You are the Swarm. You are my masterpiece. Now, if you will.."

He turned away from her, raising a hand as he walked off.

"Show them a true symphony of **violence.**"

She played her sonata, a tinkling of the piano keys, metal against metal. She was gone, but he could feel her, her hunger and her need. He dared not look back, as the curtain hadn't yet risen. Heedless of the petty threats of the capes outside, he rushed to the window, his theater box, to see the show.

He could see them all, trying to move the crowds of paralyzed revelers. It was a shame, that so many had shown up, dressed for the show, and were being escorted home before it even started. But it just made this a more _exclusive _performance.

A river of black chitin flowed from their dressing room, into the square. Confetti rained down, mixing with the insects. The heroes foolish enough to stand close were caught first, screaming and convulsing as they were bitten.

The fliers shot up, trying to leave early.

He tutted, at their rudeness.

They should have looked up, after all.

She was above them, falling. Her new limbs caught a girl in red, plunging into her chest. Her prey tried to shoot beams, fly away, but it was futile. She _tore_ and _pulled_ and her prey erupted into chunks of meat, raining down.

She glided to a building, and skittered back up it, before she was invisible in the swarm engulfing all he could see. His grin split wider, threatening to tear apart his mouth, but he'd sacrifice it all, to exult at his creation. He could but make out flashes of her performance, but they were all the more precious for it - a _master_ at work.

\- a boy in white's head, expression frozen in surprise, sailing through the air -

Jack conducted, hands waving to the symphony's rise and fall.

\- bullets were swallowed by swarm after swarm, and then the gunner was too with a sharp cry -

He twirled on the spot, dancing with his partner, far away. Fireworks flew from his own stage, and he counted down with the screens lining the main event.

-the low, gurgling moan of the paralyzed bodies around the square, as they were consumed by the bugs

And he stopped, _furious_.

She'd stopped. **STOPPED**. There was nothing that could excuse this. _Unacceptable! _This was their one performance, their one opportunity. He rushed back to the window, to see the stage once more.

The square was a smoky ruin, clumps of incinerated bugs streaming smoke and fumes from their wrecked carcases. Through the haze, he couldn't see her. A gust blew through the steel canyons, clearing the air and he saw her, _stopped_, looking up.

And so did he. The ball dropped, and the square erupted in lights, with the New Year.

"...Skitter," the man said, his white cape fluttering in the wind.

"M n' Skitter. M the Swarm." The bugs crawled over her, in and out of her, and she said it without emotion.

"I call you Skitter, because that is the name you chose for yourself. It is what you chose to use as the title to represent yourself to the world."

"G'v up."

"Why?"

The girl paused, and at that moment, Jack realized - she was not a girl anymore. The girl that he had crafted so delicately had forged into a demon, a dangerous, vicious creature that held back for no one, nothing, and not even for a moment.

So why…

Why did she hold back now?

"B'cz. T'ld. Strng."

"But did that strength grant you happiness, Skitter?" The man's voice was quiet. "Do you feel better, after what you have done."

The girl sniffled. "No."

"Do you feel as if you have avenged yourself?"

"No."

He paused for a moment, a small, sad smile coming over his face as he walked closer to her, as she lay there on the ground, broken and bleeding. "Would you like help?"

His protege would refuse. He knew it, at this moment - in this time - she was _his. _Mind, body, and soul were all his. Forged in flames and terror, he had crafted the most dangerous S-Class with his own two hands, and she had _slaughtered._

"Y...yes."

No. Jack's eyes shot to the girl, watching her broken form shake silently, as the bugs _crawled_, and he watched his masterpiece cry.

"P… pl…"

Legend smiled, a soft and sad and quiet sort of smile - the likes his protege had worn before she had been his protege. The smile of someone who breaks with every moment. "Skitter, do not worry."

"Pl… pleeeeeee…"

Legend stood before her, opening a hand. "All people, Skitter, can be redeemed. There is goodness and kindness in every single human who has ever walked this Earth. You are stronger than you think."

"I… I dnt…"

The man cloaked in blue nodded again, gently, and Jack watched as his masterpiece reached out a shaky hand to his, and he clasped his in hers. "There is nothing so bad that cannot be saved. There is nothing so vile that you cannot ask forgiveness."

"M srr…"

He smiled again, an enormous, massive thing that Jack can't comprehend. It glowed, not with his power, but with something else. "I forgive you."

"Wh…"

And then Legend said something that Jack didn't understand.

"Because you deserve to be forgiven."

The girl sobbed, a deep broken thing that wracked her body, and Jack watched his masterpiece cry like a small child - and he realized that his masterpiece, at heart, was still just that lonely girl he had reached out to, the one he had forged.

"Th… Th…"

Legend smiled again, a soft and tiny fixture on his mouth, and shook his head quietly. "No, Skitter. There is no need for thanks. Forgiveness requires no thanks. It is simply given, and accepted. But, to _change… _to become a better person after being forgiven… that requires aid, Skitter. That requires help. Do you want help?"

"Ye… yessssssss…"

"Why do you want help?"

"B'cz… B'czzzzz…"

Legend nodded sadly, and Jack watched as he knelt before her. "I understand. Fear not, Skitter. I will not allow them to kill you. You have been harmed. You have been destroyed. But broken things are not brittle, yes? Reforge them, and they gleam brighter than ever before."

He picked up the broken, bleeding girl in his arms, and smiled softly.

"And you, my girl, deserve to shine like a _diamond._"

-5: flagellate-

Jack stood alone in the emptiness of the Nine's old hideout, waiting. He knew she would come - he'd seen the articles, he'd watched the programs, he _knew _his protege would come. He'd called to her, after all. Quietly, in his own way, but he'd called, nevertheless. There was nothing she could do to stave herself from the call, it was so deeply, deeply ingrained into her that to refuse would be to deny her own being.

He heard the metal before he saw her. He always did, when she had been his - when her heart and mind had been gifted to him, her most precious two things callously thrown towards Jack Slash. He smiled as she rounded the corner, empty eye sockets blinking and staring at him.

"Hey there, lonely girl."

She shuffled nervously. "I'm… I'm not lonely anymore."

He knew that. She had _fans_, somehow - that loved the redemption story. She clung to Legend with all the tightness of a frightened child, and he _allowed _it; Skitter and Legend were rarely seen apart. But the changes in her bothered him.

Her chest cavity was slim she looked more like an arachnid _queen _then the masterpiece he had designed. With pale skin and full lips, pointed incisors poking out of each side, she really did look the part of a spider. The hives were still there, but smaller, more elegant, and more hidden. It was the Mona Lisa to his Vitruvian Man.

"Yes, of course not. You have Bonesaw with you, after all."

She flinched at that and he smiled, a cruel thin line across his face. The one whom he had trusted the most betraying him… that was something he did not expect. Defecting, leaving, _after all he did for her._ And to go after her creation, to 'fix' her, into this… this… _abomination _was disgusting. It went against everything he had ever taught her.

He approved.

"She… she's doing better. Every day, she's doing better."

He nodded, watching his magnum opus skitter nervously, eight legs clicking. He watched her rapturously, for oh how she had grown - from a young, nervous girl into a woman whose looks could kill. And kill the did: he could see the hundreds of black widows she was using to make those 'eyes', and he could see how they flickered back and forth with every moment, as if she needed them to see. He only wished that before he had made her, he had taught her to not be concerned with physical attributes.

"I... I came to say something to you."

"What?" He asked of her, watching her movements rapturously. Every day, she grew more and more to be everything he had desired her to be. Even this… this human weakness, was to be cherished, to be cultivated. It was a switch by which he had control, and he was nothing without that control.

She took a deep breath, looked up at him, widows in her eyes maneuvering slightly to look _a bit _more human, _a bit _more real, and said words he had never desired to hear.

"I forgive you."

He froze at that. He didn't know how to respond. How do you respond; to your masterpiece forgiving you for your role in crafting it? What could he, Jack Slash, the creator of the mightiest Class S threat _to ever exist_, possibly say? Even if she now worked for the Protectorate - he'd heard only recently that she'd managed to dissuade Leviathan. Alone.

She was truly the best of all his creations, his _symphony _of violence. There was nothing to be forgiven. But then he looked into her eyes - fake as they were, and flinched at what he saw there.

"Don't you _dare _look at me like that, lonely girl."

She didn't say a word, just staring at him with eyes that didn't exist, but were so, incredibly sad.

"Don't you **ever **look at me like that," he hissed, slicing a hand through the air. "I made you. I made everything you are."

"I forgive you."

"I pulled you out of ashes and made you into a **phoenix!** I made you sing so beautifully that the world _demanded _to know why!"

"I forgive you."

He roared, ripping his knife out into his hand, "I AM YOUR **CREATOR**! I forged you from **NOTHING**, and look where you are **NOW! **You repel Endbringers! You work with **Legend! **You fight those that cannot be fought, and you **WIN! **Don't you _dare…_"

She said it, quietly this time.

"I forgive you."

He hissed, his knife darting out, the blade slicing through the air where she was, but she had vanished. Gone, in an instant, like another ethereal thing here to taunt him one last time. But he remembered, _everything _he had taught her.

He looked up.

Hundreds of spiders rained down. They coated his entire body, leaving only his head free - hundreds of those beautiful, wonderful spiders that he had gifted to her, coated him until he could not move, simply because the fangs would get him by mistake.

"Ah, lonely girl… even now…?"

She looked at him, hollow eyes staring into steel grey, but he could still feel it. Her pity. Her forgiveness. He hated it. He hated every part of it. And as she came closer, he bared his teeth at her, as she leaned into him -

And kissed his lips.

It was a gentle, sweet thing, something he could barely feel for a moment, like a breeze across his mouth, and she stared at him for a moment, touching his cheek with a smile.

"I know, Jack. That's why I forgive you."

She bowed, to **him **\- as she should, the creation to the creator, the masterpiece to the artist who made it, the girl to the man she loves. And then she turned, and walked away, leaving him with nothing. Nothing more than a suit filled with spiders, and a memory of sweet lips brushing across his mouth.

And then, he laughed. He laughed long and loudly. It was coarse, rough, and guttural, every laugh almost sent him into hacking cough. He laughed until he couldn't stand, he laughed as the spiders began to slowly leave him, he laughed and laughed until he couldn't bear to laugh anymore.

They thought they could break him with this? With her? **His **creation? **His **design? She did exactly what he wanted her to. She did everything he demanded of her.

Even now, with spiders running through his suit, he smiled. She was still a masterpiece.

-6: repent -

She was still in his mind. His masterpiece. His most legendary creation. She was always there, nowadays, in this empty hole that he had once called a hideout. There was no one left but him, no one to say a word but him. And he spoke.

"She's wrong."

"_All people, Skitter, can be redeemed. There is goodness and kindness in every single human who has ever walked this Earth. You are stronger than you think."_

"There are some who can't be forgiven."

"_There is nothing so bad that cannot be saved. There is nothing so vile that you cannot ask forgiveness."_

"No. There are some things that can't be undone."

"_I forgive you."_

"Impossible. Some things are unforgivable. No matter what anyone says."

"_Because you deserve to be forgiven."_

He went in circles, the same conversation repeating over and over as he paced around the hideout.

"Not everyone deserves to be forgiven. Not everyone can be saved."

"_But did that strength grant you happiness, Jack?"_

Jack paused at that, his brow furrowing. There was no easy response to that one; his masterpiece had left him, Bonesaw had left him, and he was left alone. There was nothing here for him except dust and rocks.

"...Some people can't be happy."

"_Do you feel as if you have avenged yourself?"_

He snarled at that one, anger rushing to his face as he whirled around with his knife, slicing at invisible air, carving rocks into pebbles as he roared in his anger, crushing all around him in his fury. Jack was the _whirlwind, _the incarnation of a disaster itself, destroying all in his path as he vented his anger, his hate, his disgust on the hideout, until not even the walls remained standing, and he stood in a plane of dust and dirt, where his masterpiece had once played the most beautiful sonata he ever heard.

It still brought a tear to his eye. Even to this day.

"Of course not. There's too much left to do."

And that was when he heard the words that would change the remainder of his life, that shifted his perspective entirely - he was no longer _Jack Slash_, the man who lost his masterpiece, he was _Jack Slash, _the man with a purpose. A goal. A mission. He had reason again, a way to look to the future.

"_Would you like help?"_

He smiled. "Of course. I see. Thanks, Legend."

He had the perfect plan. The perfect execution. And there was nothing anyone could do stop him.

"If I defeat you… then I'll show that I've had purpose. Even if my masterpiece couldn't do it, I'm not _her. _I'm not weak like that. I'm stronger then her. I can do things she can't even dream of. I bent her to my **will, **carved the rules of her existence into her with my **knife**, forged her in my **blood. **I am the creator of the greatest S-Class threat in existence!"

He laughed, a maniacal piercing sound that ripped through the deserted area that had once held the most magnificent concerto ever to be composed.

"And then, when you're dying at my feet, _Legend_," he spat the name like a curse, the words hissing from his throat, "I'll destroy it all! I'll bring the world to its knees! And you'll watch me do it, Legend, you'll watch as I show you someone, something, _truly, _irrevocably, and **absolutely irredeemable!**"

He laughed again, and left. He had a long way to go. So he walked.

He walked for a very, very long time. When he was thirsty, he drank. When he was hungry, he ate. He left the location of the most beautiful piece of music he had ever heard, with a spring in his steps and a whistle on his lips, as he walked to find the man who could deliver the answers he needed.

He walked through a desert - and there was no water, so he drank the blood of his kill.

He walked through an ocean - and there was no food, so he ate the salt of the sea.

He walked through a city - and there was nothing, for the city was barren of all but himself.

And when he ceased walking, he saw it before him; the house of Legend. Where the man himself lived. Where he slept. Where _she _had slept, at one point.

He pulled out his knife, carving a hole in the window.

And then he sat in a chair, and waited.

-7: revelations-

Jack was a very patient man, even before he had a purpose for living. He was used to waiting - he had waited for Skitter to be absolutely, utterly _perfect, _and she was, in every conceivable way. A work of art that he had made, forged with his own hands, and owned absolutely and utterly. He was content to wait for Legend. To wait for the man that he would bring down.

He sat in the darkness. He picked up his knife, looking at it. It was still a good knife, a solid piece of craftsmanship. He was waiting, oh-so patiently, but perhaps he had to see to himself first.

He walked upstairs, and into Legend's bathroom. What he saw looking back at him was a man he did not recognize.

A white, collared shirt so threadbare it clung to his skin by tendrils, and a vest so torn that it barely resembled anything more than a piece of cloth. His shoes and socks were lost to the journey, and his pants were so ripped they resembled shorts more than anything else. Hair, down to his neck, scraggly and rough and damp with grease and wetness. His normally neat beard, covered in grime and covering his entire face. And he - he was covered in grime himself.

This was no way to meet the man he was going to destroy.

Jack took out his knife, and began to groom himself. He cut away the excess hair, leaving a smooth cut once more, sheer around the sides and elegant on the top, properly combed over delicately, so as to show the sophistication of his _class._

Satisfied by the hair, he hums as he works, easily carving out the grime that he had dared to call a beard into the neat goatee he had always worn before, crisp and elegant on his slim face, and he smiled, teeth somehow far too white for his grime covered face.

Jack removed his clothing, and turned on the water, relaxing for the first time in quite some time as he felt the water pour over his body, cleansing him of the grime and grease that had, for so long, coated him in his disgust. He whistled as he washed, cleaning every crevice, every surface of his body, his muscles relaxing with pleasure at the feeling. And when he was done, he took a bucket of water for good measure, and dumped it over his head, feeling the water rain down on him in the enormous shower, watching it slowly swirl into the grate.

He exited the bathroom in the nude, and headed for Legend's closet, whistling as he flung it open, using his knife to poke and prod through outfits, until he came across the _perfect _one.

Red shirt, blood red, red as his masterpiece was on her most glorious day. Black vest, with a blue rose on it, and swirling stems all throughout. Black pants, dressy - but not overly so. Similarly with socks and shoes. Having chosen his clothing and put it on; a tad snug, but not so much so to be uncomfortable, he felt refreshed, alive, and more ready than he had in _years._

He returned to his seat.

To wait.

He did not have to wait for very long.

Legend entered, chattering amiably with two people that Jack couldn't see, seated as he was in such a position in his chair. When Legend flicked the light, he froze, his smile vanishing from his face.

Jack's smile vanished as well. For the two with him were the last two he wanted to see.

Behind the man he wished to destroy, were a masterpiece and a betrayer.

"...Jack? Is that really you?"

Skitter spoke first, quietly, hesitantly, almost as if she was nervous to see him here at all. Jack didn't respond, staring resolutely at Legend.

"H-h-hey J-jack! H-how have y-y-y-y-you… y-y-y-y-y-ou…. Been?"

Bonesaw was weaker than his masterpiece. No surprises there. She had always been… easily led. A tool; a useful tool, yes, a phenomenal tool, perhaps, but a _tool_. A tool that one took out, and cared for, made sure it was pleased with the conditions of where it was, but then placed back gently, carefully, until the next use.

Skitter was not like that. She was his carving onto canvas, a beautiful, elegant figure that created his masterpiece, on the new year, that sung his symphony oh-so beautifully, his perfect masterpiece, his beautiful craft that he had worked so, _so _very hard on. She was more than Bonesaw.

But then he saw Bonesaw's eyes.

And he _growled._

"**Don't.**" He said. One word. More guttural beast than a man. "Don't you **dare**, Bonesaw."

"I-I'm s-s-so-"

He sneered. "Traitors don't **get **to apologize. Go cower somewhere _else_. I don't have time for you."

Bonesaw obliged, shivering in fear behind his masterpiece, and he found it almost beautiful to watch - those big, soulful eyes of his beautiful queen, hundreds of spiders reflected in them, covering a precocious child that had fled from him. It was poetic.

"...Jack," Legend began. "Why are you here?"

Jack _grinned_, fingering his knife. "Some things, Legend, can't be forgiven. Some people _aren't _redeemable."

The unsaid words were - "Me."

"What is your point?"

He laughed, a maniacal sound bursting from his lips as he stood up, pointing the knife forward. "Don't you **get it**, Legend?! I'm here to kill you! And when you're gone, I'll destroy it all! This whole, rotten, _Godforsaken _**planet! **None of it deserves to **exist**, Legend! It's all just here as my toy, my one, big, beautiful, wonderful _toy_, Legend."

He grinned beautifully, a wide bursting smile on his lips. He saw Bonesaw peek out from behind his masterpiece, and then cower behind her again. Then the grin vanished.

"But I grow tired of playing with it. It bores me, Legend. I've made my masterpiece, but she failed me on one thing, a single, solitary thing. I have searched for why, I have searched for _what _could have gone wrong - how could the one who I crafted so beautifully, the queen that I had made with my own hands, fail me at the last possible instant? How could she - the woman who I had dreamed of for so long, hold me so closely and then toss me aside for another?"

He twirled the knife in his hand, watching it dance, as Legend watched him. "Ah, but then Legend, then I _knew. _I knew what had happened, where I had gone wrong. You see, I had gone into my magnum opus, my _protege_, my **masterpiece **with a single incorrect thought. It is this:"

He threw the knife up in the air, catching it by the handle as he pointed his arm at Legend.

"There are no heroes left in man. I was wrong. There was _one_, one man, one single, hopeful man, who **destroyed **my symphony. Who **ruined **my strings section. Who _brutalized _my woodwinds. Who **savaged **my brass. And my beautiful pianist, my wonderful, darling pianist, the most elegant pianist that one could ask for…"

He sighed a longing sigh, gazing for a moment at his masterpiece. His wonderful creation, the queen of arachnids, before his eyes turned back to Legend.

"He **stole **my pianist. He is the one reason why my symphony was not completed. You, Legend, are the hero left in man. You've given it your all, and you've given it your best, but…"

He smiled, a wide, mad thing that carved his head like a skull. "Now it's done. Let's dance, Legend. For the fate of the world itself, _let's dance a dance of devils._"

He struck first. He always struck first.

But Legend _moved_, so quickly that he couldn't see it, grabbing his magnum opus and Bonesaw and moving them away from Jack, outside the house before he could even carve an eye out of the bastard's head.

"Run," Legend said quietly, looking at the two. "Run very, very far, and only come when I call you."

His masterpiece looked at Legend nervously, then at Jack, eyes pleading. "_Please, _Legend, if you can, _please-_"

The man smiled softly. "I will do what I can. Now go."

With one last, mournful look at Jack, his masterpiece grabbed Bonesaw and fled, covering more distance then she had even when her symphony had struck.

"_**Pathetic**_," Jack spat.

"Is it pathetic, Jack, to care for someone?" Legend asked the man quietly. "Is it pathetic, Jack, to wish for their safety, even though they wish it not for themselves?"

Jack laughed, a deep, rich, _roaring _sound bursting from his chest as he twirled his knife. "_Yes, _you bastard, _yes! _Hate me, _**despise me, **_and come! Come at me, O'Legend, man of the light itself, master of the very atoms that we maneuver! Show me, O'Creator, all the demons of the hells and all the hosts of the heavens, for tonight you will see a fight the likes of which will _never _return! This is a battle, not for you, not for I, but for _existence! _Come to me, show me, face me, and see the everlasting essence of _reality_, O'God, for t'is I, not thee, who rules the Earth now! O' Heavenly Father, up so high, look down upon your lowly son, and _**KNOW! YOUR! PLACE!**_"

-8: Ecstasy-

"No more," Legend said, voice firm, steady, and _strong_.

A blast of light erased his knife, leaving a glowing-red stump of metal. Jack threw himself forward, as a brighter beam of light erased the wall behind him, singing his hair with its passage. He snarled, "You _dare?! _You think this ends it, Legend!? You think that I'll stop, just because you've taken my **hand! **I won't stop! I'll never stop! As long as I'm alive, as long as I _draw breath_, I will work to destroy everything you've worked for, Legend! You have **nothing**, you've given it all! You'll give and you'll give until you've given up _everything, _and for what?! For what sort of things will you gain!? **THERE ARE NO HEROES LEFT IN MAN, LEGEND! I'LL SEE TO IT WITH MY DYING BREATH!"**

"No more hurting. No more pain. Nothing more, from you, Jack Slash."

He slashed, slashed, and slashed, spraying droplets of liquid metal across the penthouse. Walls fell apart, spraying white dust across the rooms. Legend stepped back, every movement a statement, every breath a word. Jack hated him, he _despised _him, he had to be destroyed, to be crushed, to be **buried **underneath the might of Jack Slash.

"You can't stop me! Not even now! Not ever! I'm the **strongest that I've ever been! **I'm a god amongst men, Legend, and what are you!? Just a man! Just a poor, lonely, sad old man who thinks he can stand up to the man who created _a masterpiece! _Not even your precious **PROTECTORATE**, not even your precious **TRIUMVIRATE **could stand up to my **MAGNUM OPUS! **She's my _Mona Lisa, _you bastard, she's the greatest thing I've ever created, and you! YOU! You _ruined _her! You took her purity, her beauty, and you turned her into… into.. Into…"

Jack hissed, carving his knife left and right, slicing up the air itself in a desperate attempt to get to Legend, to _cut _him, just once, just once, he just _needed one _if he got _one _he'd be able to _finish it _-

Legend stepped around his cuts, a blur of light, gaining distance from him. That wouldn't do, _wouldn't do_. He had to **die had to die ****had to die!**

"You think you can _stop _me?! You think you can **fight **me! I'm the greatest there's ever been, **LEGEND**, I'm the crème de la crème, the **best of the best**, there's no one better than me, there's no _**world **_that can hold me! I'll take it all! I'll take you and yours and **everyone **and _eat them up _and **SWALLOW IT WHOLE! **It's all _**mine **_you bastard, every continent, every sea, every city, every _hallow! _It's _**MINE!**__"_

Light blurred all around him, a ring of white.

"You are _**nothing**_**, Legend!** Just a man! A man who thinks that you can **change the world! YOU CAN'T BECAUSE I'M GOING TO! IT'S MINE! ALL MINE! MINE MINE MINE -"**

Legend stopped. He looked at Jack -

"...I pity you, Jack."

And Jack laughed.

-9: Theophany-

Jack flew.

His back burned, wind cutting against his wounds, driving daggers into his flesh.

His ears were ringing, from the noise of his passage.

His eyes could not see, water streaming out from his speed.

Jack landed.

The ocean beneath him parted in twain, as he blasted through it.

The ground accepted him, wrapping around him, in a warm embrace.

The dust surrounded him, raised by his stop.

Jack moved.

He reached out, digging his hand into the dirt.

He pulled, dragging his body farther out.

He stopped, rolling over, to see the light coming towards him.

Jack laughed.

"You think that's all I can take?! I've never _felt _so alive, Legend! I've never felt **such **purpose in my entire, Godforsaken **existence! **Come! COME! **COME!**"

The light was golden, now.

The light came closer.

The light was a man.

And Jack saw.

10: **ASCENSION**

Jack knew that look, as he stared up at the golden man.

He hated that look.

He'd seen it on too many faces, of too many different people - Legend, Skitter, even _Bonesaw _had looked at him like that once. The solemn sad sort of look that he couldn't bear to see.

He coughed, blood bubbling up through his throat.

"Can't see them," he said, staring at the stars. "Can you?"

The man said nothing.

"Yeah," he said, coughing again, "You can't. You're just… a fake. A copy of a real person, right? Can't even feel anything, unless someone _tells _you to. You're faker than me."

.

He laughed, and it hurt.

..

He stared up at the stars.

...

"Just… go away, why don't you?"

{FIN.}


End file.
